


Belong to who

by jauneclair



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Dirty Talk, Flint's season 4 tummy, Jealousy, King!Silver, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, but this is silverflint at heart, light Flint/Dooley, some discussion of internalized homophobia/shame, sub!Flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 02:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jauneclair/pseuds/jauneclair
Summary: Letting Silver mark him feels like its own sort of victory to Flint.





	Belong to who

**Author's Note:**

> Set during early season 4, after Silver ships Billy off to be tortured, probably au (in which they either held Nassau for a bit longer, or, if you like, forever). Un-beta'd, so feel free to let me know if you find any typos!

" _Mine,_ " Silver snarled, pressing Flint up against the door, falling upon him like a ravenous beast as he bit and tore and consumed. "Mine."

Letting Silver capture him felt like a relief.

* * *

There were tables, long tables, set up in what had once been a fine parlor. Men ate there in the mess now, satisfying stomachs depleted from defending and rebuilding Nassau-town. Flint sat slightly apart from the rest of them, breaking bread with Dooley, who Flint was content to tolerate on account of Dooley not speaking so frequently while they ate. And also because when Dooley did speak, it typically was not the useless, inarticulate shit that issued forth from most of his fellow crewmates’ mouths.

Dooley was, in point of fact, sometimes useful.

Flint raised a cup of rum to his lips and Dooley said,

"About Mr. Silver and Billy."

Dooley paused as Flint lowered the cup. The liquid splash of rum burned its way down Flint's throat and into his belly.

"Are you questioning what was done?" Flint said, twisting the cup back and forth in his hands, already considering the possibilities needed to greet whatever answer the other man might give.

"No, Captain," Dooley said. "Only wondering if you think that will be the end of it."

"I don't think either myself or Mr. Silver would have risen to our current positions without a healthy dose of suspicion." Flint took another swig of rum. The warmth of it gathered in his belly, along with all the comfort of ten years' worth of dreams finally realized. "Why? Do you have something suspicious you'd like to report, Mr. Dooley? Some dissension amongst our ranks?"

The other man's shoulders relaxed. "No. But if I hear or see anything…I'll let you know."

"Good man," Flint rumbled, lifting his cup again.

He froze at the first press of Dooley's knee against his under the table.

Flint's first instinct, which he restrained, was to look around at their surroundings and see if anyone had noticed. But it was only a slight gesture that Dooley had made, a faint pressure, and the ribald chatter and half-drunk carousing continued as if Flint's world hadn't just been upended. And even if - Flint willed his heart to slow its thundering paces - even if someone had noticed, what did it matter now? The culmination of his and the Hamilton's plans for Nassau, of Thomas' entire ethos ( _Know no shame_ ) breathed into into this town by Flint's revolution - surely Flint could appreciate this small touch, couldn't he? If only in passing.

He pressed his knee back against the inside of Dooley's thigh, the coarse fabric of their trousers chafing over one another. Tension seeped from Flint's shoulders as he pushed his empty cup towards Dooley.

"Pour me another," he said. The bottle of rum waited near Dooley's elbow. Flint was a normally fearless man, but this he wouldn't attempt without further liquid courage. The corners of Dooley's mouth twitched upwards as he followed Flint's command. The back of Flint's neck flushed. When Dooley made to pass the cup back, Flint brushed his fingers over the other man's with intention, reveling in the sea-hard chapped skin that he found there. He could touch - he hadn't touched in so long. He could speak -

"Good afternoon, _gentlemen_."

Dooley and Flint sprung apart, the vanishing pressure of fingers and knees leaving Flint feeling bereft, if not outright annoyed, when he saw who slid onto the bench close up against Dooley's side. They'd both missed the tell-tale sound of the crutch.

Blood speckled the side of Silver's face, like the night he'd bashed Dufresne's head in and told Flint _How good it feels._ The same vicious undercurrent was there, in Silver's tone and in his movements, as he reached across the table and took the cup from out of Flint's hands. He swallowed down the rum in one go.

Flint had no idea where he'd been or when he'd come in.

"Enjoying ourselves?" Silver put the cup down and stared directly at Dooley, who'd found something at the bottom of his own cup to consider. Caught-out as they were, Flint's tongue twisted, and he was unable to summon a reply before Silver was going on. "I'm not interrupting something important, am I? In that case - Captain, I need a word. Privately."

Silver sprung nimbly to his feet, grabbing at his crutch where he'd left it leaning against the bench. Flint was slower to follow, no argument presenting it to countermand Silver's request.

Silver pivoted on the crutch, swinging back to grab the bottle of rum from Dooley's other side. Then he was stalking down the hall and up the stairs with Flint behind him. He was breathing heavily by the time they made it to one of the unoccupied bedrooms. Flint seized upon this opportunity to voice the storm of opinions brewing in his head, starting with,

"What the fuck is the matter? I was _eating._ "

"You weren't eating," Silver snarled, turning. He set the bottle of rum down on a table groaning under the weight of abandoned books and chairs. "You were down there making eyes at fucking _Dooley_ for all the men to see."

Flint - and his heart - froze again. This time was far less pleasant than a moment ago, when he'd been siting downstairs. When the immediate rage subsided enough that he could work his jaw again, he formed his mouth around each word with deadly care.

"I told you my story," he said. "You told me that you were genuinely sorry. Those were your words. If you had - reservations - about what I am, the time to raise it would have been then."

"Fuck you!" Silver shouted, coming at him with a ruthless gracelessness that caught him by surprise - and up against the wall. "Fuck you for thinking that I would ever fucking think that of you!"

"Then what the fuck were you thinking of?" Flint shouted back, spittle flying in Silver's face.

Silver pinned him in place with his mouth alone, with a kiss so savage that Flint's knees nearly gave out.

"Mine," his greedy king growled, his hands burying themselves into Flint's clothes, biting at his lip. "Mine. Fuck you - what the fuck were you doing with Dooley, when I've been here the whole fucking time?"

"Nothing," Flint said, and gasped, because Silver had pulled Flint's belt off and sent it skittering across the floor. "It was - nothing. I wouldn't have done it, if I'd known you wanted it."

"Wanted you, you mean." Silver sunk his teeth into the muscle that joined Flint's neck to his shoulder. Flint's whole body jerked. He hadn't been touched, hadn't been kissed like that in a long time. A very long time. Silver's nails dug into the flesh above Flint's hipbones. "I didn't think I wanted it that badly until I saw you just now. But now I want to make you mine. More a part of me than you already are. Will you do that, Captain? Will you let yourself serve your king?"

 _God._ Flint groaned, pressing his already clammy forehead to the base of Silver's neck, where the V of his shirt exposed smooth, tanned skin. He was already Silver's in every other way possible.

"I'm waiting, Captain."

"Yes," Flint breathed into that triangular patch of Silver's skin. "I'm yours. And you're my king."

Flint pulled back, admiring the shine in Silver's blue eyes as he trailed his fingers up and down Flint's biceps, the sinews of Flint's neck, burrowing his fingers in the wilds of Flint's beard and tugging on it so that Flint's eyes fell closed.

But most of all, Silver's fingers traced over the imprint of teeth  he'd already made in Flint's shoulder, pushing his shirt further down until it all but dangled off of Flint's arm.

"I'm going to mark you," Silver purred, pressing fingers into the indentations of his own teeth. Heat crept up Flint's chest and neck at Silver's dark voice tumbling over him. "I'm going to mark you, not just here, but where everyone can see. So that no man will have to question for a moment who you belong to."

 _That_ was the thought that had Flint straining at his breeches, his chest flushed with arousal for Silver to plainly observe. It should have been shameful; it should have been blasphemous; it should have felt _weak_ , for him to allow another man to flaunt ownership of his body, his heart, his soul; but Silver already owned him. It was a victory as hard-earned as their reclamation of Nassau, the acknowledgment of it.

"Yes," Flint sighed into him. "Do it."

"Strip," Silver commanded, already there to assist, pulling Flint's trousers down while Flint struggled out of his shirt.

Naked, Flint laid on his back in the bed, directed by Silver not to touch his hard cock while the other man shucked out of his clothes at his own pace. Silver leant against the table as he removed his boot, his trousers, his shirt.  When he came to bed, straddling Flint's hips, the evidence of his arousal was hard against his muscled stomach. In one hand Silver held Dooley's bottle of rum.

"Drink," Silver said, tipping the bottle over, half a foot or so away from Flint's mouth. Flint turned his face upwards, eyes closed, and greedily swallowed the drops of rum that spilled into his mouth.

Silver leaned back, tipping the bottle again. The rum spilled into the valley carved between Flint's pectorals, pooled in the hollow of his throat. Silver set the bottle of rum down on the bed beside them. He leaned in to lap at the rum that had started to run down to Flint's stomach, off of his sides.

Flint whimpered at the first catch of Silver's tongue against his skin. He made to reach for Silver's wild dark curls, a mane untamable as any Gorgon's, before his erstwhile king and quartermaster slapped his hand away.

"Now, Captain," Silver said, eyes heavy-lidded, "you're in this bed at and for my pleasure. Don't forget that."

Empty hands opening and closing, Flint settled back down against the pillows. "Yes, _my liege_ ," he said; a response met with a sharp set of teeth biting at his nipple until he cried out, back arching off the bed. Rum ran in rivulets from the sides of his chest.

"Manners," Silver said once Flint had quieted. He blew a short puff of air against the abused bud. "I won't like having to waste the rum."

All of Flint's other protestations, doubts, and sarcastic remarks were lost as Silver bent his head and licked at the rum on Flint's skin in earnest.

In this, as in all things, Silver's mouth and tongue were perfection rendered flesh. They laved over the curve of Flint's pectorals - Silver's fingers trailed rum up onto the milky freckled hills of them, around Flint's nipples, his tongue chasing their tracks as gravity dragged rivers of rum back down to Flint's sternum, to pool in the plains of his chest. Silver teased his nipples further, his rum-sticky tongue dragging over and over them until Flint begged him, aloud, to stop. On instinct, Flint bit down on his own hand to stop himself from crying out any further, because there were certainly people within earshot of this room to hear him.

Silver, sticky-fingered, pried his hand from his mouth and cradled Flint's jaw until his breathing evened again.

"You can be loud," Silver said. "As loud as you want. I know you want to beg for it; I know you're not ashamed of that, of having people hear you begging for my touch. You're James fucking Flint and none of those men can do anything about it. Those are our men, _my_ men, and they'll do whatever the fuck I want them to or they'll die before they have the chance to say no. Now, I want to hear you be loud."

Silver's words had Flint hardening again. He nodded in response, once, and Silver kissed him before sliding back down Flint's body, their chests cresting together in a wine-dark sea of rum.

Reaching Flint's belly, Silver spread his whole hand over it, testing the muscle. His hands were large, and thick, accentuated now by a pirate king's jewels, well-earned. Flint wanted to take every one of Silver's fingers in his mouth, to the knuckles, and suck every drop of rum and Silver from them.

Silver bent forward, tasting the liquid gathered in Flint's bellybutton. His fingers traced over the thick layer of his abdomen. Flint averted his eyes: it was a sign of encroaching age, surely, that his body had not recovered from the starvation of the Doldrums as it should have, filling back in with more paunch there than there ought to be.

The nick of Silver's teeth against said paunch had Flint's head snapping forward. He stared into Silver's blue eyes as the other man grinned, bending to run his tongue over the skin he'd just reddened.

"So soft," Silver said, "but so strong."

Silver bit down again, in that same spot, long and hard. Flint groaned, long and loud.

When he was through, he gasped out, "Flatterer."

Silver chuckled. "Tell yourself whatever you like. As for myself, I want to see what this looks like when you fight in the nude, like the Greeks. Or when I have you ride me."

Flint groaned again, eyes falling shut and head falling back. "I'm not fighting naked."

"We could resume our sword lessons. I could be naked, too," Silver purred. His fingers trailed rum over the inside of Flint's thighs, but failed to touch him where he _needed_ it. "Besides, you would do it if I asked you to. If I ordered you to fight a regiment of Redcoats in all your nude glory."

"Stupidly dangerous," Flint said, an arm flung over his eyes, because he couldn't deny Silver anything.

Silver kissed his way up Flint's body, muttering into his sternum. "They would fall before you like supplicants ready to worship at the feet of their god. And then you would run them all through."

"Jesus," Flint said, his cock taking an unexpected interest in this fantasy. Silver sucked at the hollow of Flint's throat, his beard rubbing deliciously against Flint's skin. "Weren't you planning to mark me somewhere…public?"

He opened his eyes in time to see Silver raise his head, a dark grin writ across his whole face. Belatedly, Flint realized how that might have sounded.

"You'd like that too, wouldn't you?" Silver was biting and licking at the column of Flint's throat before he could answer. "You'd love if I bent you over in front of all the men one day, pulled your trousers down, and just took you like you were made for it, without preamble." Another savage bite to the side of Flint's neck. Silver's teeth worried the skin again and again, until it was almost too painful to bear. "Without pretense. They'd all watch, silent. Stunned at how beautiful you are. At how unashamed you are when you beg for what you need." Silver's hand circled Flint's cock and Flint did beg for it, repeatedly and loudly. "You'd come untouched, your seed spilling on these fine floors, my name on your lips. And I'd come inside _you_ , my seed dripping down your legs for everyone to see. Don't worry, darling. We can try it sometime."

Silver's hand left Flint's cock; he cried out in its absence, writhing against the sheets. Silver shuffled forward on his knees as best he could and offered Flint his rum-soaked fingers to suck on. Flint accepted them greedily, wrapping his mouth around them with abandon now that this one particular wish was to be granted. He tasted rum and the shape of Silver's fingers and the gold of his rings and himself.

The fingers slipped out of his mouth. Silver slid another pillow underneath Flint's head. "Open up," he said, holding the bottle of rum in his hand. Flint did; more rum slid its way down the back of Flint's throat.

Silver shuffled forward again.

"Open up," Silver whispered, his own cock in hand.

Like Silver was the altar he was always meant to worship at, Flint opened his mouth to receive.

Any vestiges of shame or embarrassment abandoned him as he began to suck at Silver, the taste of him sharper and warmer than that of any alcohol.

Above him, Silver's hips stuttered, but he didn't press at Flint; he simply leaned back and raised the bottle of rum to his lips, letting some of the liquid trickle down his beard and over his chin, dribbling onto his chest. Flint reached a hand out, lightly touching the dark stains left on Silver's skin. There was a smattering of blood there, too, to match that on Silver's face. Flint hadn't noticed it before and doing so now sent a wave of lust through him, groaning again around Silver's cock. He painted patterns on Silver's skin with that mixture of rum and blood. Part of him wanted to taste it, but Silver was so good on his tongue, so heavy, that he could have spent eternity tasting this, like this, on his back with Silver's cock sliding down his throat.

"Fuck," Silver groaned. The bottle of rum smashed against the wall above the headboard as Silver finally discarded of it. One large hand cradled the back of Flint's head, so that Flint felt the cold metal from Silver's rings scratching against his short hairs. "You're so good at this, Captain. Too good at this. I'm not going to last long."

Flint moaned as Silver's free hand touched his chin, fingers tracing Flint's lips where they were wrapped around Silver's slick cock.

"I want to fuck your mouth," Silver said, his thumb brushing over Flint's cheekbone. "And come in your mouth. What say you?"

Flint groaned his ascent as loud as he possibly could, loathe to take Silver's cock out of his mouth for a single second.

Silver chuckled before snapping his hips forward. Tears pricked at the corner of Flint's eyes for a moment, but Silver's broad fingers cupped the back of his head, holding him still as Flint swallowed and got his mouth working around Silver's thick length again.

Silver pressed forward, the loud one now as he fucked Flint's mouth with the same ruthlessness that came to him when he fought. Loud, and wanton, as he groaned out his pleasure; fey but kingly as he threw his head back, curls tumbling over his shoulders, sticking to rum-covered patches of his chest.

And above all, _beautiful,_ as he curled over Flint and keened.

The taste of _Silver_ mixed with the rum in Flint's belly.

* * *

Later, Silver caught Dooley staring at Flint.

"Something bothering you, Mr. Dooley?" Silver asked, voice pitched low enough for only the three of them to hear.

Dooley looked away quickly, a flush heating his ears, and stammered out that he was needed elsewhere. Silver grinned after him, shark-like.

Flint smiled, too, his own fingers reaching up to probe one of the bruising love-bites that swaddled his neck.


End file.
